


To Be King

by sophia_sol



Category: King Lear - Shakespeare
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-01
Updated: 2010-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-13 00:31:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophia_sol/pseuds/sophia_sol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with the dead is that you can't shut them up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be King

"No," Goneril says, a whisper in his ear, a voice nobody else can hear from a woman nobody else can see. Regan stands by her, eyes cold.

Edgar winces. "Silence," he commands.

His advisors obey, and he winces again. How could he explain that he was talking to the air?

But if he has their silence, he may as well speak. Goneril only said what he was already thinking. "No," he says. "I have no desire to meet this princess, however good a match she may be. I will not marry."

His advisors break out into frantic babbling: a king must marry, and the kingdom needs stability. At his side, Goneril smiles.

Edgar flings himself from his chair and stalks out of the room, ignoring his advisors. He is young, he is new to the crown, he has inherited a kingdom thrown upside down and wracked with tragedy. He must be careful.

He cannot go mad.

\-----

"Come, my boy! Why so glum?"

It's his father.

"I have no eyes and still I can see you sulking. You're king! Make the most of it!"

Edgar will say nothing. He doesn't want to embarrass himself in front of Kent.

"I know I would if I were in your place."

Edgar can no longer contain himself. "You're _dead_ ," he says. "Of course I'm glum."

Kent looks at him in surprise. "Pardon me, my lord?" he says.

"Nothing," Edgar mutters, then falls silent. But his eyes keep being drawn to where his father stands placidly nonexistent in the corner, and he knows Kent is worried.

If their situations were reversed, he would be worried too.

Even now, he is worried.

\-----

"Brother, walk with me."

Turning, Edgar sees Edmund striding up to meet him, a wide smile on his face. Edgar says nothing, only turns back to the lady he was talking to, and says, "Excuse me, I have some business to attend to." Then he follows Edmund.

The lady's eyes trail him as he goes, looking confused.

"It is good to see you again," Edmund says. "How is kingship treating you?"

Edgar gives a wan smile. "Well enough," he says. _How is being dead treating you,_ he does not say.

But Edmund knows him too well, and can read the sentiment on his face. He laughs, and looks at Edgar, inviting him to share the joke. Edgar can't; how could he? Edmund is dead, and this is only an apparition, or the construct of his mind.

Edmund sobers. "You cannot live in the past forever," he says, and Edgar sighs.

"It would be easier if my past would stay buried, and allow me to move forward unencumbered."

"Do you really think so?" Edmund glances around him, and his eyes follow a servant scuttling past who is very carefully not staring. "I think you're encumbering yourself."

"I think you're encumbering me," Edgar snaps.

Edmund only laughs, and then is gone.

\-----

"You can't hide away forever," Cordelia says. Edgar starts, and sits up. She's sitting on a stool by the fireplace, fiddling with a bit of kindling.

"Hiding?" he says warily. "I'm not hiding."

"You're doing _nothing_." Her voice is flat, and she glares at him. "I'm trusting you with my father's kingdom. Don't ruin it more than he did."

Edgar groans, and lies back down. He resists the urge to pull his covers over his head. There is silence. After a full half of an hour, he risks another look.

Cordelia is still sitting there, the same expression on her face. "Please go away," Edgar says.

She says nothing.

\-----

"Give up," Lear says. "You're a worse king than I was at the end. At least you have no conniving relatives trying to take over -- any more, that is."

Edgar puts his head in his hands, despairing. He cannot take any more of this.

"At least I was decisive. At least I accomplished things." Lear's smile is predatory.

Edgar wishes he could just walk away from this conversation, but he can't: once again he is meeting with his advisors.

The dead king is silent for a time, and Edgar twitches in anticipation of whatever he will choose to say next.

Lear opens his mouth.

He cannot stand this anymore. Edgar leaps to his feet, shouting, "Hold your tongue! Have you nothing to do but bother me -- any of you? Why must you torment me so?" He draws in a ragged breath, then falls to his knees, facing the empty space where Lear had been, tears streaking down his face. "Leave me alone. _Please_. I beg of you." If he looks mad, he doesn't care anymore; he's ready to do anything to rid himself of these spectres.

He feels himself being lifted up, and he looks uncomprehending into Kent's face. "Come with me, my lord," he says gently, and then barks out orders to the rest of the advisors, who hasten to do his bidding.

Edgar's thoughts circle enough to make him dizzy, but they return again and again to this: Kent should have been king.


End file.
